Mommy and Daddy Dearest
by chimney101
Summary: The musings of a seven year old mini Belikov who has too much of Rose's attitude in him to be good. This one-shot includes his perceptions of the vampire society and his mommy and daddy dearest with a dash of humour and complete nonsense.


**Hey readers. So this is just a one-shot that spontaneously popped into my mind and refused to dispense the other day when I was going about my own business. I'm not sure how to rate this one. Although it isn't really 'T' stuff, I can't really say it's 'K' or 'K+' stuff either. Then again, it is written, hopefully, from a seven year old's POV - a very smart and absolutely adorable seven year old's POV - so lets hope I can get away with marking it as 'K+'. Fingers crossed. I hope you guys enjoy it. I quite enjoyed writing it if I do say so myself.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Vampire Academy_. (Insert some lame joke about what I do own.)  
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><p><strong>Mommy and Daddy Dearest<strong>

Some people will tell you – mainly the rich, snobby and uptight royal Moroi – that I am a freak of nature. Honestly, it's not uncommon! I could probably walk down the street and BAM! To my left there will be some old, gossiping Moroi grannies whispering about me, or to my right, some Moroi parents will be pulling their children far, far away, scolding the poor kids keep a minimum of a fifty metre radius away from me. It happens quite often actually.

And I think at these times that perhaps, just perhaps, I, Ivan Mason Belikov, am the freak of nature that they perceive me to be; an unnatural being that should not exist in the first place.

But what all the sneering Moroi fail to see, even though it practically slaps them right in the face (hard), is that they – no, we, the entire vampire race; the 'pure' Moroi, the hybrid Dhampir and, unfortunately, the soulless Strigoi – are also freaks of nature who, for the lack of a better wording, are 'evil creatures of the night'. Well, as far as Aunt Sydney – a.k.a. Mummy's Alchemist friend and Uncle Ady's wife – is concerned anyway.

They also seem to forget that one day not too far into the future, this same freak of nature will be guarding one of their _precious_ children, with all but said child's life in my hands. They don't seem so snobby now, do they? Considering that I'm the top student in the class – surprise, surprise – (and proud of it!), I think my chances of guarding a high up Moroi is pretty hefty. In fact, they should be glad that I am not prancing around shoving this small detail in their pale faces.

But in all seriousness, if they think that _I'm_ a freak of nature, they should see my completely terrifying – and I swear across my heart I mean no exaggeration – parents – the infamous Rose Hathaway-Belikova and Dimitri Belikov – in action ... on the battlefield or in the gym at least.

And yes, I do happen to know what they get up to in the wee hours of sunshine. They aren't exactly discrete about it, much to my dismay. Which leads me to one of my other major dilemmas; I'm a growing boy! Jesus Christ, they might not think too much of it, but I need my sleep! I don't need to be up all night trying to block out ... _noises _with a pillow. It's permanent scarring I tell you!

Sometimes I even wonder if they are trying to announce their love to the world. At the very least, I haven't walked in on them. That would just be ... I'm not even going to go there. I'm getting goose bumps already.

Anyway, that aside, not to brag or anything but I can smugly say that my parents are probably one of the most badass, if not _the _most badass, guardians around. Am I conceited? Probably. But within reasonable range.

When they fight, it's not like the typical bloody, gruelling and uncoordinated – and yes, it is uncoordinated despite being choreographed by the best artists – bashing Hollywood seems to love so much. (Gosh, sometimes I think Uncle Sparky doesn't have _any_ taste in movies ... but admittedly the female leads are very ... appealing to the eyes. Don't look at me like that! It's normal! Though perhaps not so much for someone my age.)

At any rate, when my parents fight, it's like they are dancing to a deadly melody that only they know the notes – the endless, complicated sheet music – to. If you have ever, _ever _seen say ... Actually, I don't think any metaphor can truly do their fighting justice. It's like the flow of the tide – to and fro – and they are so beautifully harmonised that a musician or artist could probably create the next big thing inspired by them instead of the other way around. I don't know; it's really hard to put into words.

At times they are so in sync that they could compare to Asia's famous myth; Yin and Yang. A perfect balance of the elements – Heaven and Earth. One thing out of balance and KA-BOOM! The deadly dance is over. The scales are tipped and catastrophe ensures.

That's how evenly matched, yet indefinitely perceptive, they are. All it takes is one moment of mistake, one minor wrong move by either opponent, and that person would be knocked down on the floor within the next second.

There is no room for exaggeration in my recount – it's just facts. They are that fast and precise. If you threw a rock into their battle, it would probably never come back out. And if it does ... well ... it'd probably be rubbles or dust. Not that anyone's tried. Most guardians – and Moroi for the matter – are far too terrified of the wrath of the legendary Belikov couple to commit such a thing. The last person who even demonstrated some innuendo at my mother came out with a few broken ribs and a fractured face.

Their movements are a complete blur to the untrained eye and even to the trained eye, their movements are too fast to keep up with.

How would I know all this? Hey, I'm not a Hathaway-Belikov offspring without reason you know. Other than their drop-dead gorgeous good looks – yeah, I'm bigheaded even at my age; sue me – you'd think that at the very least I'd inherited their absolute ... badass-ness. If that's a word? Sometimes I wonder if half of my vocabulary is even valid. The books I typically read don't really teach me much about modern language. It seems I've also inherited my father's taste in reading material and I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing.

But hey, I'm getting immensely distracted here.

So while many people call me a freak of nature – 'an unnatural creation of two lesser beings', according to Uncle Ady's stuck-up father, that defies all genetic constraints – my parents always find time to reassure me that I am no such thing. They call me a miracle – _their _miracle to be accurate. And while I am not typically a very sentimental person – I mean c'mon; I'm a boy who has inherited my mother's attitude! Give me a break – I can't help but love them both to bits and pieces. Yes, yes, when it comes to them, I do turn into a puddle of goo with googly eyes.

I love them.

...

And my new baby sister.

...

And my two older sisters.

...

It would seem that being badass and looking like Michelangelo's David isn't the only thing I have in common with my parents, in particular my dad. I'm the only boy, surrounded dominatingly by beautiful – though I'll never openly admit it to my sisters – girls and women if you count my mum.

That, and I guess I do share a _slight_ cowboy obsession with my dad, much to mum's delight. She even bought me a duster the other day to match my dad's.

And my dad? Well, he couldn't be happier having a boy just like him around. It's male pride I guess. Not that I would know ... I'm only seven ... and married to a collection of Barbie dolls. Come to mention it, it's my twenty seventh wedding today. I _really _need to convince Aunt Lissa to stop buying those wretched manikins.

Looking over at my snuggling parents, I silently scream, "Save me!"

And what am I regretfully rewarded with just moments after? The sight of them spontaneously sucking each other's faces off! Yuck!

Mentally I groan. Looks like another sibling might just be on the way.

"Hey Ivan!" My eldest sister, Anna yells, recapturing my attention.

"Yes?" I question, turning around.

She narrows her eyes.

"Ivan Mason Belikov. Just because you're the only boy in the house who just so happens to be adequately smart–"

I raise my eyebrow. Adequately? Pft, I was a genius with the IQ of –

She ignores me.

"That doesn't mean that you can just disregard me when we are playing dress-up. Now hurry up and say your vows. Marilyn Monroe isn't getting any younger here," My sister stomps her feet demandingly.

"Yeah!" Katrina, my second eldest sister, pipes in with her girly voice, "Hurry up!"

Fleetingly, I turn back to my parents, mentally begging them to come to my rescue.

I sniffle. No such luck. They have already disappeared. Poofed away and antagonising left me with my two evil sisters. Sometimes, I felt like Cinderella, subjected to the daily torture of the monsters I call my sisters.

Almost inaudibly, I hear my mother moan and I suppress another frustrated groan.

Sure, I love them but when will they stop giving me sisters?

Mommy and daddy dearest indeed.

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><p><strong>So what do you think? Weird? Personally I think it's cute but that's just weird coming from me ... the author. Teehee. Ah well. <strong>

**REVIEW because I feel deprived of chocolate and love~! **

**Or you can just say how crap this story is. I don't really mind. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. ^^**


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